


Concerning matters

by Ejunkiet



Series: The Reunion series [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Humour, Mako - Freeform, Mass Effect one, frienship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another part of the Reunion 'verse! Mass Effect one, crack-tastic short fic. Garrus asks a few questions of his new Commander, and receives some answers he did not expect. Otherwise known as: 'how Garrus got stuck fixing the Mako.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning matters

### Concerning matters

“Commander.”

A voice rang, distinct and clear, across the emptied cargo bay, causing her to pause mid-step at the entrance of the transport elevator. A glance back identified the speaker - the new addition to her crew perched nonchalantly against the lightly steaming exterior of the Mako series terrestrial vehicle as if the scalding metal was nothing - and she turned to eye him, taking a similar stance against the lift’s metal siding. Two could play at this game. A flutter of his mandibles acknowledged her unspoken challenge, flexing into a dangerous grin.

“Officer Vakarian.”

“Garrus, please, Commander. I'm no longer affiliated with C-Sec." He leaned closer, gesturing with casual indifference at his impromptu arm rest. "She is fantastic, a feat of human ingenuity. I was wondering if I could I ask you a question about her. Or, rather, about you _and_ her.”

Her lips twitched at his easy familiarity with the beast, struggling to maintain her composure, before she broke into a small grin. “Fire away, Garrus.”

“Where were you, during the Mako’s last outing?”

He kept his expression friendly, but carefully closed in the face of her scrutiny, making the task of trying to figure out just who was the behind the visor and plating impossible. She was unable to read him, or the reason behind the bizarre question - which meant her scattered knowledge of turian social cues – drilled by a military which remembered too well how close humanity had come to war – had failed; which, really, shouldn’t have surprised her.

“I was behind the wheel.” His neutrality faltered as his mandibles dropped drastically in height, and it was almost comical before they began to twitch, leaving her a confusing mix of amusement and bewilderment. She had difficulty keeping a straight face - but the fact that her skills of reading faces and emotions that had gotten her through N training had failed was enough to sober her expression, and focus on the matter at hand. She had no idea what to make of his expression. Was it a symptom of some nervous disorder?

The silence between stretched, thinning the air between them, and desperate for something - _anything_ to fill the silence, she added on an afterthought: “and manning the guns, of course.”

The fluttering movement stopped, and it seemed every muscle within him managing to still as his eyes grew somewhat bleak, bearing into her own; which, she could only assume with complete bewilderment, was considered acceptable conduct in turian societies.

“What does the rest of the crew do, if that is the case?”

 “I go alone.”

An abrupt silence fell between them at the statement, his gaze bearing into hers with an intensity she hadn’t seen in a long time. She raised a brow, and he blinked, shaking his head for a short moment, before he spoke again, his voice an octave higher than usual. “…I see. Commander, would you accept a recommendation from a turian military perspective?”

The conversation had reached familiar territory, and with barely masked relief, she straightened, making her way across the darkened room until she reached his side. With a short brisk nod, she gestured at, what she had fondly nicknamed, ‘The Beast’. “Hit me.”

Taking the human expression in stride, he proceeded, the dual tones of his voice strained. “It is considered protocol to ensure each terrestrial vehicle have at least two, if not three, personnel to man it. Protocol-” he quickly interjected, as the commanders brows lowered, her expression taking on a darker note. “But important protocol, to ensure that the highest precautions are taken to ensure mission success.”

She gave it a moment’s consideration, before her expression lightened, a small smile returning to her features. “Valid advice. I will look into it.” Her smile widened, her teeth almost predatory in the sharp fluorescent light. “Get this thing fixed up, and I’ll consider taking you along on the first ride. You may even be allowed to drive.”

Thumping his shoulder lightly with the forearm of her armor, she sent him a small wink, before she walked to the other side of the hangar, brisk, military strides making short work of the distance between her and the reticent Krogan lounging against the lockers.

She had made it halfway across the room before the realisation of what he’d just agreed hit him with the full weight of the metal scrap behind him.

_“Fuck.”_

\-----

The muffled curse that slipped from the darkened corner of the room behind her, glitching her translator, sending a sharp crackle through her ear, and she greeted Wrex’s rough ‘Shepard’ with a broad faced smirk.  From across the room, Garrus’s eyes were narrowed, before breaking away with a sigh, turning to examine the metal wreck beside him. After all she had done for him - employment, comfortable lodgings, a bullet through the heart of a certain doctor - he really couldn't complain about the additional work. She was a good commander. Perhaps just not as invincible behind a wheel.

His glance back at the smoldering pile of metal and rock dust brought him firmly back to the present, where he was standing in an empty room grinning like a _varren_. He pushed away from the Mako, patting the inscribed ‘TWO PERSONNEL MINIMUM’ fondly; his eyes scanned what was left of the machine, forming a strategy of how he could possibly… fix the vehicle. If it _could_ be fixed.

If anything could be said, the commander was tenacious, and with the presence of the molten heap of metal despite the multiple engine failures his summary scan was informing him of, it was obvious that this trait was the reason behind mission success. Even if the internal machinery was on fire by the time she made it home.


End file.
